Chapter 4
LaylaTehran
January 2001
I closed the gate behind me, jumped over the jube
and strode up the hill. My head was down, my arms folded. In my mind I saw
him, standing back, contemplating his painting. Stubbing out a cigarette. In
the shower, washing away the paint and sweat. Water running down his back,
steam on the windows. Turning around, eyes closed; silver ropes of water
pelting his face and flattening his hair.
“Salaam, Layla Khanoom. Where are you
off to in such a hurry?” Majid leaned against the doorway of the corner
shop. He grinned and rubbed the stubble on his chin.
My thoughts evaporated. “I’m going to my aunt’s.
She wants me to taste her baklava.”
Majid nodded. “Nelly Khanoom stopped by
yesterday. She asked me how to make baklava. I said, speak to my wife,
